


All His Own

by Overanalyzer



Series: Demigods and Their Ill-Advised Sexual Exploits [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, One Night Stands, Statutory Rape, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overanalyzer/pseuds/Overanalyzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strip away the armor, the godly heritage, the rank, and what does Jason Grace really have to call his own? An illicit night out with a handsome stranger might help him figure that out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All His Own

**Author's Note:**

> I needed messed-up Luke/Jason. Buy now, get an identity crisis free!  
> This take place prior to BotL.

Jason had been with the Legion for as long as he could remember. And he'd excelled. He'd led his cohort back to respectability, won victory on quests, accomplished great deeds. There was even, he knew, talk of making him praetor when a position opened up. He was bold, brave, and generally just everything a Legionnaire and son of Jupiter ought to be.

And sometimes it seemed like that was all he was.

It wasn't like he hated his life. Camp Jupiter was home, and the Twelfth Legion, his family. They'd made Jason part of something great, and they'd made him strong. But strength in battle was one thing. One can only go so long hearing those around him share their special memories; of trouble they'd gotten into; of adventures not related to monsters or fickle gods; of things they'd decided for themselves. The only thing Jason had ever decided himself was what to have for lunch. The rest was an open book with no secrets whatsoever.

Something had to give. Jason had a duty to the Legion, but he had a duty to himself, too. He couldn't go his whole life being Jason Grace: Rome's Golden Boy. He wanted his name to be something other than a symbol of the dedication and skill New Rome and Camp Jupiter expected, to him if no one else. He wanted to fuck up, to make a mistake.

So one weekend, desperate to get away from New Rome, away from Camp Jupiter, and out from under the weight of all those expectations, he stripped out of his armor, filled out the paperwork for two days of leave and headed into San Francisco. In the "Reason for Excursion" column he checked the box marked "mental health." It wasn't exactly a lie, he told himself.

For his own sake, the Golden Boy needed to be tarnished.

The place he settled on was, objectively, a nightmare. It called itself a club, which Jason supposed sounded better than "the place where decency goes to die"; the one concession to propriety was a bouncer so thoroughly disinterested that Jason didn't even need the mist to supplement his fake ID, because the guy didn't bother to look. The bartender didn't either, and the part of Jason that wasn't relieved almost wanted to call the cops on principle, his law-abiding Roman mind quivering with righteous indignation at the lax enforcement of both age restrictions and fire codes (the exits being neither clearly marked nor efficiently placed). The clientele matched the venue; college students too broke to go somewhere halfway nice; teenagers no older than Jason himself, seeking a thrill in the forbidden; and adults who knew better, come to prey on those who didn't. People who took advantage of the young and the foolish.

Jason was young, and right then he wanted nothing more than to be foolish.

After a couple of (terrible, gods what did people like about this?) drinks, he made his way to the dance floor. The music was wordless and loud, and if Jason were in his right mind he'd be sick of it in about forty-five seconds. As it was, the alcohol was kicking in and the energy from the people around him was infectious. It wasn't long before he found himself grinding on any stranger who came near. He felt loose and ridiculous and he wondered why he hadn't done this sooner.

A few songs passed and he returned to the bar (he'd begun to see what people liked about drinking after all). He ordered another and moved to pay, when a strong hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Why don't I get that?" Jason looked up and had to remind himself to breathe.

The man before him was older by eight or nine years, if Jason was any judge. Around six feet tall, he was dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. Sandy blond hair hung around his ears, pushed back away from a handsome face that only seemed more attractive for the intriguing scar running down his right cheek, from just below the eye all the way to a well-defined jaw. And oh, _those eyes_. Jason recalled, suddenly, the time he and a few of the younger Legionnaires had gone ice-skating when he was ten. He had fallen flat on his back, and this stranger's eyes reminded him of nothing so much as the cold of the ice as it seeped through his shirt; sharp, but not wholly unpleasant.

"Thanks."

"Any time," Handsome Stranger said with a smile. "Name's Luke." Luke. It fit. He looked like a Luke.

Jason hesitated for half a second before answering. "Jason." Giving out his name to a stranger might not have been the smartest thing to do, particularly when said stranger did things like buying drinks for someone who was pretty obviously a minor, but he hadn't come here to do the smart thing.

The mistake he'd been looking for had presented itself on a silver platter, and Jason meant to take what was offered.

* * *

One drink led to one dance, which led to another dance, which led to more drinks than Jason had believed himself capable of handling (another mark against this hole of a club: drinks so watered-down even a novice like him was more or less OK), which led to kissing (Luke was good at that), and no small amount of groping (good at that too, was there nothing this man couldn't do?), and ended with the two of them making their way to Luke's hotel sometime well after midnight. It was alright, as obviously cheap hotels went. Nicer than the room Jason had rented, certainly. Nice enough to have someone manning the lobby even so late, which is where Jason's sense of right and wrong inconsiderately tried to reassert itself.

"Little brother have a bit too much fun?" The guy at the front desk asked Luke with amused look on his face, as though this weren't the first time a grown man had brought a drunk teenager back in the middle of the night. Given that they were in walking distance of the seediest nightclub in all the land, it probably wasn't.

"Yeah," Luke responded with a grin, "I can't take him anywhere." The elevator doors closed on the man's chuckle.

The brief exchange kick-started Jason's brain. He'd been doing an admirable job **not** thinking about all the underlying reasons an attractive adult, who should have no difficulty seducing a peer, would get a fourteen-year-old boy drunk and take him to a hotel room. The receptionist had assumed he was Luke's brother. Was that part of it? Did Luke have some kind of incest fetish? Was that more or less weird than being picked up at random?

 _'Stop freaking out!'_   the drunk, horny half of his mind roared. _'This is exactly what you came here for, wasn't it?'_   That half had a point; he had been angling for exactly this when he left New Rome.

But the rational side of Jason, impaired though he was, continued to press the issue. _'He got you drunk,'_   the voice hissed. _'Now he's getting you alone. Just how dumb_ are _you, anyway? Is this what you want to remember?'_

As the elevator came to a stop and Luke pulled him down the hall, Jason had to admit that rational-Jason had a point too. At best, Luke was someone willing to make some bad decisions of his own, without the excuse of youth. And the lack of scrutiny, both here and at the nightclub, suggested this wasn't the first time the older man had done something like this; that he had known exactly what to do and how to do it.

Luke opened the door to his room and they stepped inside. It was tidy, and there was nothing to overtly suggest that Jason had gone home with a serial killer.

 _'No, just a statutory rapist,'_   his rational self argued, _'Is this really an appropriate place for a son of Jupiter?'_   But that was just it. Jason hadn't come here to be appropriate, and he hadn't come to live up to some cleaned up version of his father's legacy. Some would even argue that a one-night-stand with someone he didn't know was the most Jupiter-like thing he could ever do. And even if it wasn't, so what? Jason was his own man, a capable Legionnaire, and if worst came to worst he could handle one sleazy mortal...

He was shaken from his thoughts by a rough kiss. "Tell me," Luke whispered against his mouth, "tell me what you want." The question was accompanied by a hand pressed to the front of his jeans, and Jason's mind was made up. He pushed Luke back onto the bed, then climbed on to straddle the man's hips.

"All of it," he said, low and wanton.

"I want all of it."

* * *

 

The night passed in a fog of need and indulgence. Luke proved to be a dedicated and considerate lover, and when Jason left in the morning, aching and satisfied, it was without any regrets.

He'd declined Luke's offer of breakfast. There was no chance of a continuing relationship, and Jason didn't want to trick himself into hoping otherwise. Leaving aside the age difference and the fact that the Legion would likely try to have Luke killed if the affair came to light, the man was mortal, and getting any closer to Jason would just put him in danger.

Some people would consider that acceptable. Luke had, objectively, committed some serious crimes with Jason. Even less forgivable, they might say, was the name he'd whispered in the night; a name that certainly didn't belong to Jason. He couldn't quite hold that against the man. Jason had had ulterior motives of his own, after all. Still, Luke obviously had issues to work out, and it was probably for the best that 'Percy,' whoever he was, continued to keep his distance.

As for Jason, he'd gotten what he wanted. He'd done a reckless, selfish thing, an act of dangerous hedonism that served nothing and no one but himself. When he walked back into Camp Jupiter shortly before sunrise on Monday morning, it was with secrets he'd never imagined he could have; a whole new side of himself, scandalous and shameful and all his own. His name no longer felt so much like a burden. The gold no longer seemed so blinding. He knew who he was. These memories would make him stronger. Strong enough to bear the weight of the Legion's expectations. Strong enough to duel a titan, though he didn't realize it yet.

And if, a year later, when he stood in a dusty alcove in a temple on the other side of the country, lost and confused and not understanding why a picture of a sandy-haired boy made his heart quicken, well...

He'd remember eventually. If it was really important.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks are owed to http://jercydrabbles.tumblr.com/, whose own work reminded me to finish this.


End file.
